


Inexorable

by notthequiettype



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthequiettype/pseuds/notthequiettype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek might never admit what he wants from Stiles, what he's wanted for so long, but Stiles is okay with that most days. It's been years of this low thrumming, pulsing want between them and Stiles thinks of it like a living thing, warm and familiar and constant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inexorable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neptunepirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunepirate/gifts).



> This started as a Tumblr ask box blurb for [neptunepirate](http://neptunepirate.tumblr.com) but it kind of ran away from me. I caught it eventually.

Stiles says, all easy and half-drunk, "Is it because you think it'll make you weak?" He slurs more than he means to. He's only had two beers, but he'd downed them on an empty stomach, adrenaline still rushing through him like liquid fire under his skin. Even the pizza he'd eaten so fast he'd barely chewed it hadn't cut the buzz.

"What'll make me weak?" Derek's pulling Stiles' socks off, lifting his legs so they rest on Derek's thighs. Stiles is hogging the entire couch and Derek's letting him. Derek lets him get away with a lot, with more than Stiles expects.

"Me. This. Us?"

Derek's hands go still at Stiles' ankles, one thumb settling against the knob of bone. He sniffs loudly through his nose. They'd been out in the forest for three cold hours. Even werewolves can get a little sniffly. "Stiles."

"I know, I know. Shut up or go to sleep or we'll talk about this another time. I know." Stiles shifts up a little, back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out. "You'd think after all this time you'd have found a new line. Or, you know, actually talked about it."

Derek presses his thumbs into Stiles' feet, the brittle lines of bone at the top, long even stripes of pressure from ankle to toe. Stiles doesn't fight the groan that builds low in his chest, lets his head drop back. "Your hands are so warm." Stiles had watched them run for hours, settled on a downed tree near the edge of the Hale property, heart stuttering every time he heard a noise he couldn't quite place. They haven't had a serious threat in months, but Stiles is always alert and a little anxious anyway. It's as regular and involuntary as breathing. 

He loves watching them -- wolves at play, his wolves, are wild and raucous and joyful, a little scary, a little aggressive, but beautiful -- and he never gets bored. Fidgety, maybe, but never bored. They come to him usually, one at a time, press a clawed hand to his shoulder, push at him, or drag him into the soft, wet earth and wrestle. They're gentle, but they don't handle him like glass. Stiles appreciates it, even bruised and scraped and muddy. After three hours in the cold fog, he was ready for warmth and beer and food and dry socks, in that order. They all spread out into the house -- this kind of pieced together center of them where they come and go -- and pass out. 

Stiles stays on the couch tonight because Derek stays on the couch. He stays with Derek a lot. Even between classes and work and making sure he spends time with his dad, he sees Derek more than any of them. But it's still valuable to him, the alone time. Derek might never admit what he wants from Stiles, what he's wanted for so long, but Stiles is okay with that most days. It's been years of this low thrumming, pulsing want between them and Stiles thinks of it like a living thing, warm and familiar and constant.

Derek's still rubbing at Stles' feet, his ankles, hands pressing easy and hot against his shins and then moving back down. Stiles sinks into it, eyes closed, and lets every word that forms in his mouth die on his tongue. He likes the quiet sometimes and he knows if he can hold it, if he can stop the tide of words that rushes through him at all times, Derek might not do the same.

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Hmm?" Stiles shifts up and opens his eyes.

Derek drags his fingers against Stiles' skin, soft and random, little almost-scratches. Stiles huffs a laugh and shifts his legs around. The gentle touch tickles and itches. Derek increases the pressure just until Stiles settles again and resumes the long traces up and down his skin. "You'd always be in danger because of me."

Stiles heart trips a little, breath catching. "I like danger."

"Stiles."

Stiles shifts, pulls one leg free of Derek and tucks it behind Derek's back against the couch, knee bent, thigh dropping to widen the vee of his legs. It's not a totally unconscious choice. He sees Derek's teeth dig into his bottom lip and smiles. He might be comfortable with this thing between them, its failure to crest the final hill, but it doesn't mean he doesn't like to mess with Derek, to push at him. "I'm just saying, if I was looking for safety, I wouldn't be here in the first place."

"It's different."

"I mostly live in a house at the edge of the woods. A house usually full of monsters, adjacent to a forest that keeps birthing other monsters that routinely want to have me as a snack. Being the boy in the plastic bubble isn't exactly my style."

"It would mark you. Make you different."

"I'm already human. How much worse could it get?"

Derek pushes his fingernail into Stiles' skin, scratching a long white line up to his knee. "A lot."

Stiles shrugs. "I can't speak from experience, but it still kind of seems worth it." Stiles bites down on his bottom lip and takes a long, deep breath. He feels like there's heat in him, like it's growing and expanding, like it's swallowing him whole.

Stiles watches Derek's chest, his shoulders, the tension he's holding, each breath like a labor. "Stiles."

"You're the only person I know who can make that sound like a reprimand. Even my dad's never mastered it. Not without breaking out my full name." Stiles shifts, pulling himself along the back of the couch until he's half in Derek's lap, half draped against the cushions. Derek's hands move to his knees, up under the hem of his basketball shorts against his thighs. Stiles pants a little, mouth dropping open. Derek touches him a lot, often enough, shoulders and arms and sometimes whatever happens to be near him when they're alone, but this is different. His hands are so hot and they're pushing up under his clothes and Stiles was already half-hard. He lets his forehead drop against Derek's shoulder.

"It's been a long time," Derek says, hands settled against Stiles' knees.

"Bullshit." Stiles' voice is low and a little broken. "You bring girls home enough. I've seen you with guys."

Derek laughs a little, quiet. "Sex is just mechanics."

"Fun mechanics though. I am a big fan of tab a and slot b meeting. Like, frequently."

"It's not that part that's been a while."

Stiles goes quiet and still, head against Derek's shoulder. Everything about this feels familiar and new at the same time, Derek's hands on him and their bodies so close together and the smell of Derek, all warmth and salt and earth, surrounding him. "You mean, like. Feelings?"

Derek presses his face against Stiles' head, laughs a little. "Yeah, Stiles, like, feelings."

"It's not like... you don't already have them? Right? It's not just me?"

Derek nuzzles Stiles' temple, breathes him in. "Not just you."

"Jesus, Derek." Stiles chest heaves, breaths coming faster than he can totally manage. He pulls back so he can look at Derek. His face is soft, mouth open a little, eyes crinkled, pupils wide. Stiles' heart clenches in his chest. He's been waiting years to see Derek like this, to see want on his face, not chased away at its first glimmer.

Derek's hand moves up to cradle the side of Stiles' face, thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip. "Not used to wanting things this much."

Stiles groans. " _Oh my god_."

Derek keeps staring at him, thumb finding new places on his face and neck to touch. "Your skin is so soft."

Stiles pants, Derek pressing his face into his throat, the curve of his shoulder. "I moisturize." Derek drags his lips against Stiles' jaw, catching at the fair stubble there, and making Stiles gasp, hips jerking. Derek laughs into his skin and Stiles' swears he can feel the smile. The first graze of Derek's teeth against his neck forces a broken, guttural noise from Stiles' throat and he fists Derek's shirt. " _Derek_." It's plaintive and desperate, but he doesn't care. He wants this _so much_.

"I can't do this--"

Stiles yanks hard at Derek's shirt. "No! No, shut up. _Shut up_."

Derek sighs and pulls Stiles' hands free of the fabric. "I wasn't finished." He spreads one hand on Stiles' back, low, and holds him. 

Stiles settles again. "Sorry." He can feel his cheeks flush. There is apparently no line of desperation he won't cross.

"I can't do this halfway."

"Oh my god, do I have to pledge to mate for life?"

" _Stiles_."

"I'm sorry." Stiles takes a deep breath. "There's a lot of stuff racing around in here." He gestures to his general person, frantic.

"You wouldn't be you if there wasn't."

"I just want you to say yes. I want you to want this as much as I do."

Derek noses at the skin just under Stiles' ear and Stiles' eyes almost roll back in his head. Derek says, "I do" and it's this cross between a whisper and a growl and Stiles thinks he might pass out.

Derek palms the sides of Stiles' head, shifts until he's got fingers on the back of it and thumbs against neck and jaw, and then turns Stiles and fits their mouths together. It's softer than any of the kisses Stiles has ever imagined. He always thought this would be sudden, urgent, that it would finally happen after some unimaginable danger, adrenaline pounding and sweat just starting to cool on their skin. He didn't imagine it like this, soft and easy and comfortable. It feels like home, like a lock clicking into place, effortless.

He pulls back for just a second, tongue chasing Derek's taste against his lips, and shifts up so he's kneeling over Derek's lap, knees bracketing his thighs. Derek's hands settle on his hips and he smiles up at Stiles, all teeth and warmth and pink mouth, and then they're kissing again. Stiles lets his hands roam, quick and hungry, against Derek's neck and jaw and then down against his waist, up under his shirt against hot, tight muscle, thumb skittering across the trail of hair disappearing into Derek's jeans.

Derek groans into Stiles' mouth, hands sliding under the waistband of his shorts, fingertips skimming low, pulling him down, Derek's hips hitching up to meet him. Stiles gasps against Derek's jaw, face pulling into a smile, teeth grazing Derek's neck. 

Stiles lost his virginity when he was seventeen. He was at a party alone, solely because he'd been pissed at Scott and Derek, and it was drunken and fast and terrible. Her name was Fiona and she was a senior at Loma Alta and she approached Stiles, saying she vaguely remembered him kicking her brother's ass at lacrosse once. Stiles would say he's had a lot of experience since, but he hasn't really. He's had enough, plenty, but with Derek... Being with Derek feels like so much more.

"Feelings are okay, you know," Stiles says, still tucked against the skin of Derek's throat. He's hot and salty here, where sweat pooled a little in the hollows as he ran with the pack.

Derek's hands go tight on his hips, pushing them as close as possible, cocks bumping, just enough friction to make Stiles whine in his throat. He knows Derek's deflecting it, trying to stifle Stiles' urge to talk. Stiles is kind of okay with letting him. Derek palms the back of Sties' head, nails scratching at his scalp, pulls him in for a long kiss, teeth pulling at Stiles' bottom lip. "Jesus, Derek."

Derek's hands slide up under Stiles' shirt, wide over his ribs and then they're shifting, Stiles' back hitting the couch and Derek's weight settling over him, between Stiles' legs. They're pressed together from waist to toe, Derek bracing himself with one arm and staring down at Stiles' face. He drags his thumb from Stiles' temple, along his cheekbone, across his mouth and back, up his jaw, settles it just under his ear before trailing it along his neck and down into the groove of his collarbone where it's exposed in the vee of his shirt. Stiles' breath catches and he struggles to keep his eyes from slipping shut. He doesn't want to miss a second of Derek's eyes on him, laser-focus and soft heat. "You could say something, you know? Anything. Something?"

Derek kisses him, licks into his mouth with these little feathery touches that make Stiles squirm and fight a laugh. Stiles pulls back, grinning. "Really? Nothing? _Nothing_? Years leading up to this -- _actual literal years_ \-- and you got nothing?"

Derek looks at him, soft around the eyes. "Remember the last night with the Alpha pack?"

"You want to reminisce?"

"You got knocked out? And Scott spent the rest of the night protecting you because he couldn't move you without one of the Alphas following."

"I got knocked out because Erica threw me thirty feet. I lost one of my front teeth." Stiles tongues at the cap.

"She was protecting you."

Stiles is trapped under Derek, solid and steady above him, still staring into his face. They've known each other for almost five years, been something like friends for most of it and Stiles knows Derek, knows every twitch and twist of his face, can predict where he'll go in a fight, what he'll do when he's in the woods with the rest of the pack, knows his howl and his scent and that he sleeps on his back when he's anxious and sprawled out on his belly when he's not. Stiles can see the caution in his face, the tension that says that whatever Derek is saying is harder for him than he wants Stiles to know. "I know."

"I sat outside your window all night once you got home, once I knew everyone else was safe. I stopped myself from coming in a dozen times."

"Wait, what?"

"And when Isaac went rabid and tore you up?"

"Yeah, you almost ripped his head off."

"I stayed in your room that night after I knew Scott and Deaton were going to take care of him. And I kept trying to say something, to tell you. And you kept making jokes about graduation and how you were going to be the only person doing community college for witchcraft and gen ed at the same time."

"Wait, are you--" Stiles freezes, mouth hanging open. Stiles pushes his hands up under Derek's t-shirt and tries to breathe, fingertips counting the curve of each rib. "You kept trying to say _what_?"

"And when we were working on the house. And when you first started staying here. And when you were staying here almost every night. And two months ago when everyone was going to come over for pizza because you told them to, but no one showed up. And two weeks ago when you got sort of drunk and we watched that stupid zombie movie and you fell asleep. And all the times you tried to bring it up and all the times I told you to shut up or we'd talk about it later and every day. Every single day I've wanted to say something, for years, about this, about all this." Derek tucks his face into the curve of Stiles' jaw, stubble scraping in a way Stiles isn't at all opposed to and breathes into Stiles' ear. "Every day I've wanted to _do_ something about it."

" _Oh my god_."

"You need me to keep talking? I can. I can tell you how much I've wanted to be this close to you, how long I've waited to find out what you taste like, how good you smell right up against your skin when you're turned on."

Stiles' fingers go tight against Derek's ribs, hips jerking up against him. "Holy shit."

Derek grins, kisses Stiles, his hand sliding between them to pull at the waist of Stiles' shorts. His knuckles graze low on Stiles' belly, fingers tugging at the fabric. "You really need me to talk? This not enough for you?"

" _Oh my god_ , it's plenty." Derek slides his hand into Stiles' shorts and curls his fingers around his dick. Stiles' eyes go wide and his mouth drops open against Derek's shoulder. He whimpers. Derek strokes, tentative, and Stiles bucks up into it.

Derek kisses him, finding a rhythm of strokes that makes Stiles twitch and flex. Stiles gets his hands on Derek's jeans, pushes at them, fumbling with the zipper until he can get his hand inside and let his fingers trail down Derek's cock. Derek groans against Stiles' jaw, sloppy, breath hitching. It makes Stiles' heart pound, entire body pulsing with it. Derek fucks into Stiles' loose grip. "You smell so fucking good, Stiles. Feel so good."

Stiles whimpers again, eyes half-rolling back in his head. He hasn't been this turned on in his life and he feels overheated and crazed with it, like Derek's unlocked something in his brain and his body at the same time. Derek kisses him again, hungry and full of teeth, and Stiles just tries to stay with it, hand pulling at Derek in his jeans, heavy and hard in his fingers. Stiles can't stop the way his hips roll, dragging his cock through Derek's tight fist, but Derek just kisses him harder and jerks him faster, so Stiles doesn't think he minds. 

"Can't wait to take my time with you." Derek growls against Stiles' mouth. "Can't wait to see what you look like stripped down and begging underneath me. Waited so fucking long."

"Jesus Christ." Stiles never imagined Derek like this, shameless and dirty. Stiles digs his fingers into Derek's hip and pulls him down hard, there's hands and cocks and clothes, but so fucking much friction Stiles thinks he might die. Dry, mostly-clothed handjobs are not supposed to be this good. Stiles feels sixteen again. Derek grinds down against him, panting against Stiles' neck. "Fuck, _Derek_."

Stiles can't string words together after that, Derek jerking into his fist and stroking Stiles' cock, graceless but effective. Derek gives up on words too, sticking to moans that make Stiles' guts twist up with heat, cock jerking. Stiles comes, hard and messy, Derek stroking him through it, kissing him and pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. Stiles' hand stills, overcome, until Derek growls his name against the skin below his ear. Stiles laughs a little, breathless -- "Sorry, sorry." -- and focuses on making Derek come.

"Always wondered what you'd be like." Stiles is exhausted, his entire body warm, Derek's hand settled on his hip, sticky with come. He doesn't talk during sex, usually, much to the astonishment of more than one of his partners and it feels foreign in his mouth. Derek groans though, breathy and desperate, so he tries. "Didn't think you'd talk so much, make so much noise." Stiles switches strokes, long and tight around Derek's cock. Derek pants and Stiles can feel his body go rigid. "So fucking hot, Derek. Jesus."

Derek comes with a strangled noise low in his throat, hot against Stiles' palm and wrist, face tucked at the base of Stiles' throat. Stiles mostly wipes his hand on the inside of Derek's jeans because no matter how many times he's had sex, he will never be cool or suave about it, and tucks Derek's cock back into them, laughing a little. It's relief and exhaustion and all these unfurling feelings that mostly feel like comfort and familiarity and home.

Derek tugs Stiles' shorts back into place, damp and gross, but Stiles can't find the energy to really care. He settles back on the couch, legs still against Derek's thighs. "That was sudden."

Derek laughs, hands settling against Stiles' ankles again. "Sudden?"

Stiles looks down at Derek's hands against his skin. "You wiped your hand on the back of my shorts, didn't you?"

"Oops?"

"Thanks. I _did_ want the five other werewolves that frequent this couch to know exactly what happened here."

Derek shrugs. "They would've known anyway. Already do, probably."

"Gross."

"That wasn't sudden." Derek's staring at his hands against Stiles' feet, like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. Stiles isn't surprised. Derek hates feelings.

"No, not really."

"I mean, I meant what I said. Before."

Stiles grins. "It was a long time coming."

Derek nods, just a short jerk of his head. "I meant the other thing too."

Stiles grins wider, laces his fingers together over his belly. "That you don't want to do me halfway?" Derek shoves at Stiles' legs, but Stiles just digs his heels in, pushes at Derek's knee. "I know you meant it. Do I ever do anything halfway?"

"Only everything."

"I resent that."

"You wouldn't if it wasn't true." 

Derek digs his thumbs into Stiles' calves, kneading, and Stiles groans and tips his head back. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

"Is this a promise?" 

Stiles smiles, soft, and watches Derek's mouth tense and relax, teeth worrying at the inside of his bottom lip. "After all these years, you have to ask?"

Derek's mouth relaxes, teeth flashing at the corners. "I guess not."


End file.
